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An exciting crime story about retribution, addiction, cocaine dealers, murder and a corrupt inspector. First, the employee Grace Jenkins is spied on in her apartment, then she witnesses an announced accident and a murder. For weeks she has been receiving letters from a stranger that are announced as chapters in a story starring Grace Jenkins. In one she even has to read that she is going to commit murder! Is it a script written by a madman? The letter writer takes her hostage and wants to force her to shoot Narcotics Inspector Greg Walker. He survives, seriously injured, and after recovering begins to hunt the letter writer. At the same time, the police are kept busy by murders in the cocaine scene. Chief Inspector Roberta Foster and her colleague Inspector Patrick Balmer cannot see a connection between the cases for a long time. Will they be able to solve the mystery of these strange chapters? Can retired Chief Inspector Steve Brennan help?
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Seitenzahl: 460
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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www.tredition.de
Uwe Trostmann
Chapters of Vengeance
Crime Novel
www.tredition.de
Imprint
©2025 Uwe Trostmann
Website: www.uwetrostmann.de
Editing by: Ms. Friederike Schmitz, www.prolitera.de/
Cover design by: Jochen Pach, www.oryxdesign.de/
Printing and distribution on behalf of the author:
tredition GmbH, An der Strusbek 10, 22926 Ahrensburg, Germany
The work, including its parts, is protected by copyright. The author is responsible for the content. Any use is not permitted without his consent. The publication and distribution are carried out on behalf of the author and can be reached at: tredition GmbH, “Imprint Service” department, An der Strusbek 10, 22926 Ahrensburg, Germany.
ISBN Softcover: 978-3-384-48429-1e-Book: 978-3-384-48430-7
I would especially like to thank my editor, Ms Friederike Schmitz (www.prolitera.de), for the extremely good and constructive cooperation during the revision of the manuscript (German version).
I would also like to thank Ms Claudia Chmielus for her careful proofreading (German version).
Table of Contents
1st Letter
Everyday
2nd Letter
Roberta's Long Weekend
3rd Letter
4th Letter
No Clues
Death of a Drug Dealer
What's Next?
Vacation Time
5th Letter
Cooper's Legacy
Interesting Clues
Brennan's Contacts
New Clues?
6th Letter
A Murder
Changed Constellations
The Kidnapper
Relationships
Plans
False Hopes
7th Letter
Pub Shootout
Findings
Explorations
8th Letter
A Big Fish
Misjudgement
No Successes
Immobile
Mother-daughter Weekend
9th Letter
Lures
A Horrific Discovery
Second Attempt
Brennan Discusses
One Way Street
Walker Disappears
10th Letter
Meeting Points
The Reckoning
The Leak
He can convey to her that he has no intention of using violence against her. Rather, he shows himself to be caring and concerned about her. Since she is valuable to him as a pawn and as a means of pressure, the situation is reversed for her.
In this situation, she again has the feeling that he will not direct his aggression at her unless circumstances allow him to act differently. In return, he is very attentive to her. This makes her feel that he is benevolent and that he is a victim of the police.
According to Lecturio Magazine: Explanations of the Stockholm Syndrome – The Victim Role of the Perpetrator
1st Letter
Grace Jenkins opened the door of her house in Woodcock Street, a quiet residential area of Birmingham, just behind Aston Park. She turned outside once more, opened her umbrella twice and put it in the umbrella stand. She quickly opened the mailbox on the entrance wall and found an envelope, which she put on a shelf. She took off her wet raincoat and shoes, picked up the mail and her bag and walked into the living room. Curious, she opened the envelope with no return address and took out something different to what she had expected. It was neither an advertisement nor an invitation to a party. When she unfolded the sheet of paper, she saw a text that began with "Chapter 1". She skimmed through the contents with interest before reading it again, line by line. The more she understood what she was reading, the more she felt uneasy and even reluctant to continue reading the text.
Chapter 1
At 7:15 a.m. on 8 June 2016, as it did on most working days, she got up, went into the kitchen, and made herself a cup of tea. She turned on the television, sat down at the kitchen table so that she could watch the Morning News as usual, and drank slowly from a light blue mug. Her eyes fell on the biscuits from last night and she decided to have two for breakfast. Even though the mug was still half full, she went to the bathroom and got ready for her day's work at Birmingham City Council on Woodcock Street. Today she decided to use Chloé perfume. She put on dark brown trousers, a red floral blouse and her comfortable pumps. Since the weather was supposed to be a little rainy, Grace decided to put on her trench coat. Then she left the house.
Grace looked up and thought for a moment. June 8th had been two weeks ago, today was the 22nd. The descriptions were correct. Was someone trying to play a joke on her? She read on:
Grace walked to the Trinity Road bus stop. She knew some of the people waiting and spoke a few words to one or two of them. When the bus reached the stop, she was talking to a lady with blonde hair who was a little younger than her.
I was being watched very closely by this stranger, Grace thought. She became uneasy.
Grace got off with this blonde woman at Snow Hill Queensway and walked with her towards the City Council, but today made a small detour to Celebz, bought herself a cheese sandwich there and went straight to the main entrance of the City Finance Department.
I'm curious to know what else that person saw, she thought. She was astonished by the spying. She couldn't imagine, for the life of her, which of her acquaintances would pull such a prank.
She immersed herself in the letter again, turned the page over, found that it was also written on the second page, and read on:
At lunchtime, the sun came out and Grace walked a lap around the administration building. She was not alone but accompanied by two male colleagues. One, a little taller than her, wore a blue suit and red tie, the other wore charcoal grey trousers and a leather jacket. The air was now so warm that she put her coat over her arm. After about ten minutes the three of them returned to the building.
That was true! The two colleagues were Joe Smith and Kenneth Burns.
Grace left the City Council at 4.38pm and, instead of taking the bus home like she did on other days, took the one towards Priory Queensway. She got off there and walked down the street to Marks & Spencer. It had started to rain lightly, but she still did not use her umbrella. In the store, she went straight to the women's department to look for a jumper. After trying on several, she settled on a dark grey one with green trim. Happy with her purchase, she stopped by the shoe department but could not find anything suitable. As the store would be closing in a few minutes, Grace made her way back. At Tesco Metro, she bought a carton of milk and a piece of toast. Finally, she took the bus back and walked from the stop to her house in Bevington Road.
Grace felt her pulse beating faster and faster. She felt hot, and she kept looking around the room, peeping out the window, trying to distract herself, trying to make sure no one was in the room or watching her through the window. Although she was extremely angry about this letter and wanted to throw it in the trash, her curiosity compelled her to find out more about this Chapter 1. She continued reading.
At home she sat in her armchair and put her feet up. She picked up the newspaper, an article captivated her. It was about a man who had walked from the North Cape to southern Spain. Then she warmed up some soup that she had kept in the fridge and made herself a sandwich. At around seven o'clock she immersed herself in a travel agent's catalogue. She lingered longer on a page advertising a hotel in Tenerife. She made notes on the prices for a stay in September. At 8.14 p.m. she decided to continue knitting the jacket she had already started. The back part in dark blue was almost finished. Before she went to bed, she watered her potted plants in the small garden that bordered Aston Hall Park. At 10.28 p.m. Grace turned out the light, but not before checking that the front and back doors were locked.
Grace looked up. It had happened two weeks ago! She could not calm down. What she had found amusing at first now frightened her - more so with each line. She rummaged through the pile of newspapers and found that the date of the article was confirmed. She could remember most of the events reported in the letter. But she also read about things she had almost forgotten. How did the letter writer know all this? There was only one conclusion for her: someone was watching her and had been watching very closely that day. But who could know what was happening within her four walls? She could not remember any of her acquaintances being with her that day or on the days before or after! She had spoken to one or two people about her holiday plans, and about the fact that she liked to knit, but these people could not know what she had done that evening or what she had eaten. Grace looked out of her living room window for a long time at the street. She was lost in her thoughts. It was slowly getting dark. Late in the day she got ready for the night in the bathroom, and even later she turned off the light.
She kept looking at the alarm clock. The night did not want to end. The next day was Saturday, she did not need to get enough sleep, did not have to go to the office, had no plans for the weekend. Eventually she fell asleep.
As soon as she woke up at around seven o'clock, that strange letter was running through her mind again. That eerie feeling of being watched, that fear was back. Grace tried to distract herself, vacuumed the apartment, picked up the newspaper, but could not concentrate. She did not dare leave the house because that stranger would follow her again.
Aston Villa supporterspast her windowto the bus stop. She looked at the clock in the living room. It was already 1 p.m. But she did not feel hungry. She just got a glass of water from the kitchen.
With the glass in her hand, she looked at the living room table and then through the door into the bedroom. She saw the book "Winter Sun" by Rosamunde Pilcher, which she had wanted to continue reading last night to distract herself. She could not concentrate; her thoughts kept wandering back to Chapter 1 .
Grace became thoughtful. When she opened the curtains in the living room, she saw the sun and clouds quickly alternating, she heard the wind outside the house. Suddenly she realized that she had not even been in the bathroom yet! She should have taken a shower.
She stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom and looked at herself. Something was different. Something was suddenly inside her. Something unpleasant has come into my life.
She stood in the shower longer than usual. Her thoughts kept wandering back to the letter. She got dressed, picked it up again and decided to go for a walk in Sandwell Valley Country Park.
She sat down on a bench. She wanted to sort out her thoughts, which were rather confused. Who could write something like that to her? Who could benefit from watching her? She went through the list of her friends and acquaintances. The list was not particularly long, and none of them would be considered for such a thing. Should she ask one or the other? No, she would not do that - she felt ashamed of having become a victim of this letter writer. Chapter 1 kept going through her head. It occurred to her that there might be more chapters . But if there were one or more chapters, then it might be a book! What was the title of the book? What was the content?
She went to bed late, picked up her reading material and, to her own surprise, was able to immerse herself in it. She was finally distracted. Late she fell into a restless sleep.
On Sunday morning, she sat on her sofa with a cup of hot tea and looked around. She saw her apartment, which she had decorated to her taste, her neat furniture that she had bought little by little. Not the designer stuff, but it should look English, she said when someone asked her about it. Grace did not want to stand out, not with her clothes, not at the office, not with her friends. She had her room where she lived and her house where she could retreat. Here she had created her little world. Did someone want to destroy it now?
She had been in a relationship once. That was more than three years ago. He and his brother were nice men with good manners. But when she found out that her boyfriend was doing shady things on the side, it was over for her. And she did not hear from him again until she read about his death.
She sat there like that for a long time, occasionally looking out the window, but for fear of being watched, she left the curtains closed.
I can't and don't want to spend my time like this, she decided, and set out to leave the house. She sought distraction in the Museum Collection Centre. She wanted to take her mind off things.
She had not been able to relax that weekend. While she was cooking, washing, or cleaning her house, these lines were always buzzing around in her head. Should she talk about it with Rose or another friend? No, that was not her style. She did not like talking about her personal affairs or even her feelings. This envelope was not stamped, it had not come in the mail. She had nervously checked the mailbox repeatedly over the weekend. She was expecting something that did not arrive and that she did not want anyway.
Late that evening, after the Evening News, she found herself looking forward to the next day at the office.
Everyday
On Monday, Grace went about her daily routine again. As usual, she got up, tidied her apartment, went to work, then drove home and did some shopping. But something had changed: Uncertain, she kept looking to the right or left, behind her, to see if there was someone following or watching her. She expected the phone to ring and an unknown person to call her, she expected an email from a stranger. Even at work, she nervously checked her smartphone for messages. Nothing of the sort happened. After three days, Grace calmed down again, was able to concentrate better on her work, reading and knitting, and did not keep checking the mailbox at home. When no more chapters arrived the following weekend, she tried to convince herself that it had all been a cheap joke and that the author would one day, hopefully soon, stand in front of her as an acquaintance.
On Saturday, she thought about getting new flowerpots and soil from the garden centre - she wanted to repot her flowers and herbs. She got into her little Suzuki, which had been standing unused near her house for more than three weeks. She did not like driving, but had bought this little vehicle anyway so that she could easily visit friends and her mother or run larger errands. She had not looked at the Suzuki for a while; it needs a wash, she thought, and got in. As every time she set off, she was overcome by uncertainty: I have no more experience. I need to drive more, she thought. With these thoughts, she put the automatic gearshift lever into the drive position.
The car was freshly washed, there were flowerpots and bags of potting soil in the boot when Grace returned two hours later. Like most English terraced houses, hers had a small walled garden at the back of the house, and Grace spent the afternoon beautifying this little courtyard. The sun was shining that day. After her work, she settled into the garden chair among the new flowerpots. She had forgotten to check the letterbox again. She looked up briefly and smiled at that.
The next few days were no different from the time before this chapter 1. Grace felt more secure again. Whenever she thought about this matter, she told herself that it had probably been a bad joke and did not think about it any longer. She also wanted to forget what the letter writer had written about her activities in the house, and indeed what he had known. On Thursday afternoon she was invited to her friend Rose's house.
She had gone straight from work at the office in Birmingham City Council to see Rose. She had only agreed to the invitation because she had taken the next day off anyway. On the way she bought a box of chocolates and took the bus to Green Lanes.
Rose was already waiting for her - with a big surprise: Grace had known that her friend had a boyfriend, but not that she wanted to marry Toni. She had not mentioned a word about it before. But now she blurted out her marriage plans. Grace hardly had time to ask questions. They filled their glasses with gin and tonic several times and became more and more cheerful, which was unusual for Grace, as she rarely drank alcoholic drinks. But today was a little different: she was happy for her friend. The first thing she wanted to do when she got home was to write the date of the wedding in her calendar. The letter from the stranger had faded into the background.
After two hours, she was able to tear herself away. In a good mood and a little tipsy, she set off for home. The bus took her to her stop, she got out and walked the remaining 150 meters to her front door. In her mailbox, she found a few letters as well as advertising leaflets and the newspaper. She took everything and put it on the kitchen table. Even at that moment, she did not think about this envelope with no sender. She took off her coat and shoes, took the newspaper, went into the living room, sat down in her armchair and put her feet up. She leafed through the newspaper, found one or two interesting articles and lost track of time. It was already dark when Grace felt a little hungry and went into the kitchen. She returned to the living room with a sandwich and a glass of water, not without taking the stack of envelopes from the kitchen table with her. She opened the mail, found a telephone bill, a letter from the pension fund, a letter with family news from her cousin in Wales, which she read with interest, and noticed from the chimes of her living room clock that it was time for the Evening News. She turned on the television, watched a film after the news, and then, tired as she was, decided to go to bed. That ominous letter two weeks ago must have been the work of a comedian. With that thought in mind, she quickly fell asleep.
Grace had taken Friday off and wanted to go shopping in peace. As she was leaving the house, she noticed that her shopping list was still in the kitchen. She walked past the living room table and by chance her gaze fell on yesterday's mail. Something white was peeking out from under what she had been reading. Her inner peace immediately disappeared when she held this envelope with no sender and this sticker of her address in her hand. She still hoped that it was not a continuation of the first chapter. Her hands were shaking as she opened the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper: It was Chapter 2! She was still standing in the living room, the front door still open, noises from the street could be heard in the house, but she did not hear them. She closed the door and was already reading when she ran back into the living room.
2nd Letter
Chapter 2
Now Grace had the second chapter in her hand and read it eagerly. Her hands were shaking, and she sat down in her large armchair. The first letter had confused her greatly. Even now she felt like she was being watched, but she still could not imagine who could have written this text.
After receiving the first chapter two weeks ago, Grace was extremely confused. Her reactions ranged from "This is a bad joke" to "Someone is trying to scare me" to a state of fear and panic. She was inhibited, did not leave her house for a while, felt unsafe. She felt seriously threatened by the description of individual details, even details from her bathroom! For someone who experiences something like that, it is really bad. They no longer have a private place to retreat to.
She looked up. The person who sent her these descriptions showed a certain empathy. Was he sorry to observe her in private, or was he doing it with the conscious intention of unsettling her? After a while, she read on:
Grace went to Sandwell Valley Country Park in the afternoon and continued to think about this chapter 1. She sat on a bench for a long time with the letter in her hand. From there she went straight back to her house, closed all the windows and curtains, and only moved in the dark.
Sunday came and she went to the Museum Collection Centre to find some time away. She wanted to get away from it all, and had put on her new dress, which she had received in the mail just a few days before. She looked smart in it. It was a defiant reaction to the letters and the observations described in them. She had difficulty finding her bank card at the museum ticket office, so she paid in cash. She spent an hour and a half in the Museum and Art Gallery, looking at the landscape paintings from the 18th and 19th centuries in detail. Did that calm her down? At the end, Grace bought a book about the collection. On the way back to the bus stop, she gave a beggar a one-pound coin. She took the train from Duddeston to Witton Station and then the number 11A bus to Hinstock Road. From there she walked to Handsworth Park, where she met her friend Rose. They had coffee and ordered pastries. Rose had come in her black Peugeot and then took Grace home.
Back in the living room, she looked at the paintings in the book again over a cup of tea. She did not think about the first chapter of the unknown book very often anymore. She did not even mention it to her friend.
But didn't she sometimes wonder if certain things were part of destiny? Was it planned by whoever that the cans of peas in the supermarket fell off the shelf right in front of her? Or was it the other way around, that she walked past the shelf at the exact moment when the cans started falling off the shelf?
It dawned on her. She remembered that the cans rolled at her feet in the supermarket. Was that intentional? she asked herself. And more
Could it happen in the future that something would fall over as she walked by, fall when she was near, someone die when she was around?
She looked up. Such things could happen. She did not have to have anything to do with it! And what did the writer mean by "die"?
Nothing much special happened during those two weeks. On the Tuesday before last, she noticed a man in Woodcock Street who looked familiar. She slowed her pace for a moment, hesitated, and then continued walking. It was probably a mistake.
She looked up. Of course - I thought he was a former classmate. This stranger is watching me closely.
Last rainy Sunday, Grace stayed in her house, except for a short walk in Aston Park. She took her time sewing the pieces of her hand-knitted jacket together. She was proud of herself. After trying the jacket on once, she hung it on a coat hanger in the bedroom. That evening, she treated herself to a gin and tonic as a reward while listening to a recording of Rigoletto.
Her hands shook, her legs went weak, she sat down immediately. She quickly stood up again and double-locked the front door. It was completely clear that the stranger was spying on her! She could not take a step alone; she was not even safe from him in her house. He saw every little thing. Even now! But what did he want? She wondered where he might have hidden cameras, looked around nervously, pushed curtains aside, looked under and in vases and other objects, but could not find anything. He even watched me in the bathroom, she realized with horror, and what perfume she put on which day. He could also watch her while she was showering - what a thought! She felt sick. Trembling, she read the remaining lines:
She went to bed at 11:10 p.m. to return to her office at the City Council on Monday morning. When no new letter arrived in the following days, she felt more secure and hoped there would be no more. But then she received Chapter 2.
She sat down at the table. She was scared, felt despair, she started to cry. What did this stranger want from her? Why did he do this? Should she talk to her friend Rose about it? Should she go to the police? She was ashamed that she had obviously become the victim of someone who was stalking her. But what could she do? No sender, no trace. Grace shuffled to the dressing room, looked in the mirror. She looked awful, she thought, felt sweaty. She should go shopping, but she would feel followed and watched everywhere now. She went into the bathroom and immediately remembered that the stranger was watching her here too. She turned off the light, closed the curtains, undressed, and showered in the dark.
What a horrible idea, to be constantly under surveillance, to no longer have a personal, intimate place. Again and again, she looked for microphones, cameras, for strange traces in her apartment. Again and again, she looked behind curtains, cleared books from the shelves and searched for every strange object. She felt around in the darkest corners of her apartment and in vases with the light of a flashlight. She found NOTHING. If she had discovered anything, she would have gone to the police immediately. So, she had no choice but to continue living in this great uncertainty. She no longer dared to leave the house. She felt miserable. She gave up going shopping, drew the curtains and sat in the dark until half past ten in the evening. Again and again, she looked for ways out of her misery. She should go away, far away. But she could not take a vacation now; vacation could only be requested six months in advance. Now, during the school holidays, parents with children had priority and some were already on their way. And she could not claim it was an emergency - she would have to go to the police again. She saw no way out. Exhausted, she finally fell asleep after midnight.
After a restless night, she woke up shortly after six. She still felt miserable and realized that she had not slept well. She showered again in the dark bathroom, got dressed and drank a strong cup of tea. She saw a sad face in the mirror with dark circles around the eyes. The longer she looked at this face, the more she noticed how her fear slowly turned into anger. Does he want to destroy me? Her facial expression became more determined.
"What do you want from me? Show yourself!" she said quietly to herself at first, then louder and louder, almost screaming. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. Let's see if you're still writing those stupid letters. And if you don't stop, I'll go to the police! And now you can write down that I'm going shopping."
As she left the house, she noticed that her shopping list was still in the kitchen. She went back, picked it up and said the things she wanted to buy, commenting on each step, putting on her shoes and coat, she took the car keys and a large shopping bag and left the house. Outside, she felt a light breeze - she took a deep breath, she felt better. She got into her little Suzuki, started the engine, and drove to the supermarket.
"And so that you don't have to guess where I'm going, I'll tell you straight away: to the Heathfield Supermarket. You can turn on your cameras there. I'll tell you something else: I feel like an actress. She's also being watched, on her stage. You can watch me on my stage."
With this defence strategy, she felt better. Nevertheless, she changed in the eyes of those around her. Colleagues asked her what the reason for her nervousness was. A neighbour wanted to know if she was feeling bad. She looked sick. Grace tried to ignore these questions or, if there was no other option, she told them that she had a problem in the family.
When she came out of her house the next morning, there was a dying cat lying next to her entrance. It had been hit by a car. A neighbour came over and wanted to take the animal to the doctor. But the cat was already dead. Grace remembered the lines in Chapter 2 - she shivered.
Roberta's Long Weekend
Chief Inspector Roberta Foster travelled to Scotland, on the one hand grumpy, but on the other hand happy to be able to visit her parents again. And she had arranged to meet up with a former classmate.
As soon as this seminar is over, the weekend can come, she thought and continued the A1 to her destination, Edinburgh.
Four hours' drive to go; she would soon have made it. She turned on the radio and hoped to find a Scottish station. The news didn't have much new to report and then pop music started playing.
"I'll be arriving much sooner than expected," she muttered to herself. "Maybe I'll go to the archaeological site by the wall and meet the nice lady who showed me the skeleton a few years ago. I'll mention this case in my talk anyway."
At two o'clock, Foster drove into the parking lot of her seminar hotel, parked her car, checked in and took her suitcase to the room. She briefly considered whether she should swap her jeans for a dress in this beautiful weather but decided to be more comfortable. She put on her blazer, took her small backpack, and set off. I hope I don't meet anyone I know now. I want to get to the city wall quickly, she thought.
She was lucky. The weather was at its best, the sun was only occasionally obscured by small clouds, and after about half an hour she reached the excavation site. After looking around for a while, she spotted the archaeologist as she climbed out of a depression. Foster waved to her; she came closer but needed a little time to remember the Chief Inspector.
"Oh yes, of course, you are the inspector from Birmingham who only revealed herself as such after I asked her questions. How are you?"
"I'm fine. I have a seminar here starting this afternoon."
“Did your guess turn out to be correct?”
"You mean the mark on the forehead? Yes, that was right. According to our forensic scientist, it was carved into the forehead hundreds of years ago. I assume you didn't read about the case in the newspaper. It was a dramatic family story."
She told us something about the poisonings that had been happening repeatedly over a long period of time, initially without being recognized. The archaeologist listened attentively.
"These are exciting things you're telling me! I'm particularly interested in this family history. Can you please send me something about it?"
“Gladly. The case is closed.”
“And both murderers took their own lives with the poison?”
"Yes, in both cases we were too late. But what I would like to know is: Have you found any more skeletons here?"
"One more, but without the sign. If we find another one, I'll let you know."
"Why don't you stay overnight with us?" Foster's mother was upset, her father stood speechless at the door.
"Because I have to stay flexible. I can't just run away from my colleagues after the course ends and say: My parents are waiting for me. We must exchange important information and experiences. And you can see me now. I came especially for you."
“And of course you have to be back at the hotel with your people straight away,” her father teased.
She took a deep breath but remained silent.
“Well, tell us something about your cases,” said the mother.
“And how it goes without Paul,” her father added.
After the initial difficulties, it turned out to be a pleasant evening for everyone. She told crime stories, enjoyed dinner, and said goodbye to her visibly tired parents late in the evening.
“I’ll come by again on Sunday before I go back.”
For her presentation at the seminar, Foster chose a dark pants suit. She reported on specific cases where solving the case was difficult. In the discussion that followed, the case involving the poisoners was particularly well received.
In the evening, after dinner, some older colleagues asked how Steve Brennan was. What she had reported in the seminar had a lot to do with her former boss. After a while, she was a little irritated that the questions were more about him than about her. Nevertheless, as the only female inspector in this seminar, she soon became the centre of attention of the evening. Also because she had changed and was now wearing a dress.
"It's exciting to read the name of a former classmate in the newspaper. You really have an exciting job."
Foster had met her friend Susan in a café on Sunday morning. Susan had studied psychology and was now working in a practice in the city.
"There are some exciting situations," said Foster. "But there is also a lot of routine and administrative work involved."
"I've never had anything to do with criminal psychology. When I hear your stories, I really want to work with you."
"We have to try to understand the perpetrators' motives in order to solve a case. But I learn most of it in practice."
"Maybe I'll do some additional training and come to you. By the way, there was a lot in the newspaper about your boss, Steve Brennan. Is he that good?"
"He was, dear Susan. He is retired. I took over his position."
"And how was it working with him? He looked quite attractive in the pictures for his age."
"Susan, please. He's thirty years older than me and loves fishing more than anything. He's not my type at all. But working with him has been very rewarding. When you've been in the profession for so long, you learn a lot."
"You're certainly right. But tell me, don't you have anything planned?"
"You mean a man? No time for that. And I'm glad I don't see Paul anymore."
"Was it that bad?"
"You're not at home and he jumps into bed with the first girl he sees. Because he was so lonely, as he said."
“And your hobbies from the past? Dancing and tennis?”
“Maybe again in the future.”
The two friends continued to have a great conversation until Foster remembered that she had to visit her parents.
“So, will we see each other again sometime?”
“Come to Birmingham and let’s do something.”
After the promised stopover at her parents' house, Roberta Foster drove back to Birmingham.
3rd Letter
The last one had arrived on a Thursday. When would another letter like this without a sender appear in her mailbox? Grace had been mentally preparing herself for this all week.
This time it reached her on a Wednesday - she had just returned from the city, where she had posted a package for her sister in Ireland after the office closed, when she held this white envelope in her hand, the same size, no sender, just like any other. But she recognized it immediately. She wanted to stand firm, but she felt dizzy, she wanted to run away, but her legs failed her. She took a deep breath and unlocked the front door.
"Just take it easy," she said to herself, put down her bag, hung her coat on the coat rack and took off her shoes. She sat down and opened the envelope.
Chapter 3
After Grace received Chapter 2, she tried to stay calm. She did not want to believe in these letters and tried to live her life as normal. Nevertheless, she spent the first two evenings in the dark. Then she wanted to immerse herself in her role like an actress and began to comment aloud on every step she took from now on. This gave her stability , but it also cost her a lot of energy. Even in her small car, she talked to the stranger incessantly.
Now he can even hear me in my car.
Once again, she is very nervous as she holds a new chapter of the unknown book in her hand, this time the third. It will lead her not only through the past, but also into the future. And Grace will increasingly become the centre of a completely new story, an exciting story that will change her and her life.
He is planning something around me that is supposed to happen afterwards! What does he mean by me being the centre of the story? Aren't I already?
On an unspecified day, she will walk the three hundred metres from the bus stop to her office in the City Council as she always does in the morning and then walk back the same way in the late afternoon. She will not be alone; many employees from the finance department and students from Aston University will share this path with her. She knows her around here and feels safe, especially from being observed. At some point it will happen: a man will be run over by a car in front of her eyes.
Grace put the piece of paper aside in shock, feeling her heart racing.
"How can that be? How can that person know? Is he going to run someone over? Where is that going to be? He doesn't say where or when it's going to happen. Of course there are accidents on the road every day. But how does that person know that I'll be there? If that's the case, it can only be intentional, a murder! I can't believe it," she said quietly to herself. Her thoughts were racing. She tried to concentrate. She thought about how she could prevent it, considered asking the police for help, but they wouldn't believe her story. "Unless someone really is going to run over. But then it's too late!"
Grace sat in her armchair, unable to get up, tidy up, or make herself a small dinner. Later she got a glass of water. She sat motionless in her armchair for a long time, and in her excitement, she even forgot to close the curtains and turn off the light. Late in the evening she lay down in her bed. She hardly slept all night, tossing, and turning. When she did fall asleep, she had nightmares.
Shortly after five the next morning she got up and sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. It was getting light outside, and the first neighbours were driving to work in their cars. After that night she had nothing but cotton wool in her head. Later she drove to the office. She was extremely nervous, kept looking carefully around on the street, becoming noticeably more uncertain. At every intersection she looked to see if anything was going to happen. She accidentally bumped into passers-by because she kept looking at the street and not at her path. At the bus stop a woman who took the same route as Grace in the morning asked her if Grace was really feeling well. I must look terrible, she thought anxiously. She arrived at the office tired, did her work, and avoided contact with her colleagues. On the way home she went to a drugstore and bought a pack of sleeping pills. She did not want to experience another night like the last one. Nothing had happened that day.
On the fourth day after the announcement, the unimaginable happened: On the way home, she was standing at a pedestrian crossing with a red light when a man on the opposite side moved abruptly, almost stumbling, towards the road. Grace saw the man, saw the van coming, wanted to scream, but could not. The man was hit by the car and dragged along. The shock froze her. What had been announced had happened. She stood rooted to the spot and was still unable to move when the ambulance and police arrived. She could not go to the police now and report that someone had seen the accident coming!
"Can I help you?" A passerby had seen Grace standing there for some time. Grace looked at her.
"No, everything's fine," she said and started to walk home. Her steps became faster and faster, soon she was running, she wanted to get away from this place, from this impending accident, from everything - she just wanted to hide. She locked the door behind her, lay down on her bed and cried.
The next day she called in sick. On her smartphone she read that the accident victim was called Ken Stirling and that he had died in hospital that night. She kept thinking about what she could do to stop receiving these letters and get rid of this sender. She saw only one option: she had to talk to her friend Rose about it. She wanted to confide in her and ask her for advice.
"It's unbelievable what you're telling me! You have been receiving these chapters for weeks? First, someone seems to be monitoring you and sending them to you, then he announces an accident right in front of your eyes and then it happens. Grace, that was murder! You must go to the police!"
"They don't believe me. The best I can do is file a complaint for harassment."
“Does the name Ken Stirling mean anything to you?” asked Rose.
"Not at all. Why do you ask?"
"Maybe he has something to do with the letters."
“The letter writer?”
"No. With you and the letters."
"I don't understand. No. I've never heard that name before."
The two friends sat together for a long time and wondered what the background to this ugly game could be. How could Grace become one of the game pieces? They came to no conclusion.
“Do you want to stay with me for a few days? Here you won’t be monitored, and you’ll feel safe.”
"I've already thought about that. But first I'm going home. It's already half past nine."
She had taken a sleeping pill and got through the following night well. And again, her first thoughts in the morning were about the letters and the accident. Occasionally she thought of the name Ken Stirling, but she could not remember ever having heard or read the name before. The letters and now this accident had changed her life: she felt like she was being watched, even in her own house, someone was controlling her life, she was not free.
The accident prevented her from concentrating on her work in the office. On Rose's advice, she took frequent breaks to relax. Her trips to the office or to the shops were still marked by uncertainty. She kept looking to the right or left.
The two friends spent Thursday evening organizing Grace's weekend. Grace could not persuade her friend to do anything with her: she was busy with her wedding preparations.
“I’m afraid the letter writer is monitoring us here too,” said Grace.
"I hope not," Rose replied. "We'll find out when he mentions your weekend in the next chapter."
They continued planning. The suggestion came from her friend: "Why don't you go somewhere you've always wanted to go, where you might know someone."
They looked for hotels in Leicester and Nottingham. As they left, Rose encouraged her friend with the words.
"I'm sure the days will be beautiful. Don't think so much about those letters." And she gave her another piece of advice: "When you pack your things at home, avoid talking or leaving anything lying around that could indicate your trip."
Grace drove home in her car, turned off as many lights in her house as possible, got a suitcase and packed clothes for the weekend. She put it in a dark corner, out of sight from the windows. She took a sleeping pill, set the alarm just in case, and fell asleep.
When her alarm went off on Friday morning, she had already been awake for a few minutes. As she had done for the past two weeks, she showered in the dark, letting light in only through a narrow crack in the door, got dressed, made herself a cup of tea, packed her laptop in her bag, took her coat and suitcase and drove to work in the city's finance department, this time in her car. Colleagues who saw her asked if she was feeling better, she looked good today. At lunchtime, she put her things away in her desk, said goodbye for the weekend and went to her car.
She filled up her car at the next petrol station, drove south, took the M5 towards Bristol, and only later drove her car via Coventry to her destination in Leicester. She kept looking in the rear-view mirror to make sure no one was following her and noted the cars driving behind her. A dark Mazda, which was soon twenty miles behind her, caused her to leave the motorway, stop for a moment and only later return to the motorway. She no longer saw the Mazda.
She reached her first destination, The Castle Hotel by Greene King Inns, after almost an hour's drive. Choose a small hotel so you can keep an eye on the other guests, Rose had advised her.
She checked in, she would only stay one night, then she set off to see the city. She was in a good mood as she walked through the streets of Leicester. The sun did the rest. However, when she was sitting in a café and a stranger sat down at the table next to her and wanted to start a conversation with her, she quickly paid, ran out and into a shop diagonally across the street. The stranger did not follow her, she was relieved.
There it was again, that feeling of being watched. She could not shake it. Was the letter writer following me? She kept walking. But that is exactly what he wanted. To unsettle me. But why and for what?
It was getting dark, and she walked back to the hotel, freshened up and went to the restaurant. The table was set for dinner. She ate her meal alone, then went up the stairs to her room and locked the door.
On the way to the breakfast room, Grace asked the receptionist if an envelope had been left for her. She hoped - she wanted to put an end to her uncertainty - that nothing had arrived for her. There was nothing there for her.
She packed her things back into the small suitcase, shoved it into her car and drove to Nottingham. Only now and then did the sun come out from behind the clouds, but she was still looking forward to this day. The thirty miles there were short, and she parked her car near the Mama's Inn Boutique Guest House. The day is mine, she told herself and was soon strolling through the streets. She almost took her phone and wrote a note to Rose about how good she was today. She would better not do that, her friend had said.
But she called an old classmate. He, surprised by her call, changed his plans and met up with her. They chatted a lot, Grace forgot these chapters and did not say anything about them. She returned to the hotel late. On Sunday afternoon she was on her way back to Birmingham. But before she drove to Bevington Road, she stopped at her friend's house.
4th Letter
The following days were filled with uncertainty, despite the weekend that had passed. Sometimes fearful, but also impatient, Grace waited for the next letter. She trembled when she looked at the mailbox. What will he say about the accident? Did he plan it? In that case – was it murder! Or will his ugly plans escalate in the next chapter?
She came home from the office on Wednesday and found the envelope, this letter, in her mailbox. "It will have to wait," she said defiantly and put her things aside, hung her light trench coat on the coat rack and took off her shoes.
"You see, your letters don't scare me anymore," she said aloud to herself. She made herself a cup of tea and opened the envelope. She tried to control herself, but her hands were still shaking.
Chapter 4
Grace stood petrified at the crossroads. She had witnessed Ken Stirling stumbling onto the road, although the pedestrian light was red. He was immediately hit by a delivery truck, thrown onto the road, and dragged along for a distance. He died a short time later in hospital. Passers-by were surprised that Grace was still standing on the road when the ambulance had already left. She stood in the way of the pedestrians, stepped to the side, leaned against a wall. She could not believe that the announcement in Chapter 3 had come true. She broke out of her rigid posture and walked slowly, lost in thought. At the next stop, she took the bus to her friend Rose.
Now she told her everything. The two friends sat together for a long time or went for a walk. It was already dark.
He's also watching us in Rose's apartment! How is that possible!?
Over the next few days, Grace went to her friend's house more and more often after work but returned to her house to sleep. She defiantly commented on everything she did - she had come to believe that she was always being watched in her house. She had repeatedly, but unsuccessfully, looked for hidden cameras and spies. She now regularly took Vivinox to help her sleep, but she did not want to follow her friend Rose's advice to show the letters to the police and ask for help. One weekend she went away and did not return until Sunday evening.
Aha, he doesn't know where I was. And that means he doesn't have control over Rose's house.
Grace opened her front door that Wednesday, already thinking about the next chapter . She found the letter there, did not let her tension show at first, but then tore the envelope open with shaking hands.
The observer had judged her well, she told herself. And read the next paragraph:
Grace will continue her daily routine in her new way. She will take the usual route to and from work and do her shopping. But she has become different: more withdrawn. And she awaits the next chapter with impatience, because she knows that she cannot escape this book. She realizes that she has become part of the book. And one day something new, something unexpected will happen: somewhere along the way she will witness someone very close to her dying.
Grace read the last words over and over: ... she will see someone dying very close to her . She felt dizzy. Her head was spinning. She felt sick, her stomach churning. She stood up to get a glass of water and almost fell. She just managed to hold on to the arm of the chair. The letter slipped from her hand. She staggered into the kitchen, poured water into a glass, shaking so much that half of it spilled, and drank it in one go. She lay down on the sofa. Her heart was racing. She wanted to scream but could not.
"Why are you doing this?! Who are you? Do you want to kill me too?" Her words were only whispered. After a few minutes, however, she picked up the paper and read on:
Grace does not want to believe this announcement, cannot understand it, but after the last few chapters she canimagine that this murder will take place. Why me, she asks herself. She will try to prevent this crime, but the police will not be able to do that either. It becomes increasingly clear to Grace that she has become part of a bigger story.
And something else will change in her life: she will meet someone with whom she will share her life from this point on. They will travel through the country together with the aim of implementing an important decision. They will experience a lot together. Grace will see the big connection that began with Chapter 1. They will write many more chapters together.
"I have absolutely no intention of doing anything with this person. I refuse to meet this person! He even plans for me to go to the police. He does not warn me not to do this. He is very sure of himself. But would the police even believe this story?" Grace tried to compose herself, to distract herself with housework. Her plants in the yard needed tending. Then she left the house, walked a few steps into the nearby Aston Park, made sure that no one was around, and called Rose.
"You have to go to the police now! I can go with you if you want." Rose was also angry about what her friend said. She too could hardly believe this story. But she had known her friend for a long time and never thought that she had made up what she was saying.
"They're not helping me. Nothing happened."
"A lot has happened. Especially to you, my dear Grace. You are exhausted. You are part of a terrible game played by a madman. The police must stop this madman."
"Okay, then. I'll go there tomorrow after work."
“Hopefully it won’t be too late by then.”
